


Push

by IdleLeaves



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Established Relationship, Injury, M/M, Non-Career-Ending Injury, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-11-23 15:29:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11405286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdleLeaves/pseuds/IdleLeaves
Summary: It's never surprising when one or the other of them wakes with dull aches in their feet, knees, hips - especially the morning after a late-evening practice - but that particular morning Yuri had seemed to be in a stronger, sharper sort of pain.





	Push

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lileura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lileura/gifts).



Yuri's apartment is dark when Otabek returns after practice, paper cup of tea in one hand, his hair and jacket damp from the rain. He slips Yuri's extra key back into his pocket, where it's been for weeks, and flips on the overhead light. A pair of leopard-print sneakers are in the middle of the hall.

 _I'm home_ had been Yuri's last text, nearly two hours ago. Just those words, and no more - no details, and no answer to the _what did she say?_ that Otabek had messaged back during a five-minute break.

Otabek sets his skate bag down and shrugs off his jacket; as he unties his boot laces he thinks back to earlier in the day. It's never surprising when one or the other of them wakes with dull aches in their feet, knees, hips - especially the morning after a late-evening practice - but that particular morning Yuri had seemed to be in a stronger, sharper sort of pain, the kind that couldn't be soothed with ice packs and anti-inflammatories.

He'd admitted to nothing when asked, and Otabek had not been in the mood to push. As Yuri had stepped onto the ice that afternoon, though, there'd been no mistaking his gritted teeth, the tense set of his shoulders, the stiffness and uncharacteristic hesitation in the way he'd moved across the ice. His first jump had ended in a hard fall and a loud yelp; before he'd even had time to shake off the impact and scramble to his feet Yakov had been beside him, dismissing him from practice and ordering him to see the team doctor. Yuri had left the ice after nothing more than a moment of half-hearted protest - that, in itself, spoke volumes.

In the stark white light from the kitchen, Otabek can see Yuri, now, curled on the sofa with his arms crossed, sweater sleeves pulled down over his hands and his head on the armrest. His right leg is wrapped in a bandage from foot to knee.

Otabek draws in a long, soft breath. As Yuri opens his eyes, Otabek comes to sit on the table in front of him. "So?" he says.

Yuri sits up and reaches out his hand for Otabek's tea; he takes a sip and warms his hands against the cup before returning it. "Stress fracture," he says. His voice is almost neutral, but Otabek can sense the effort it takes to keep it there, can sense the frustration caught and held just below the surface.

"Tibia?" Otabek asks, and is answered by a curt, wordless nod. He sighs, and runs a hand through his still-damp hair. "I'm sorry, Yuri. What's the recommendation?"

"Six fucking weeks off the ice."

"With partial weight-bearing as tolerated?"

"Yeah." 

"So you're out until mid-August."

Yuri shakes his head, and rubs the back of his neck with one hand. "I can't. I can't miss that much time. The season--"

"It's July," Otabek cuts in. "The season is months away."

"I've barely even started my new programs." It's the truth, but even so, he's ahead of the rest; at this time of year, most other senior-level skaters are still mulling over music choices. Yuri, though, had allowed himself even less of a post-season break than usual, and had instead thrown himself back into training with even more single-mindedness than Otabek had come to expect.

"Yuri--" he starts, but doesn't get the chance to finish.

"I _can't_. Fuck," Yuri says, and moves his legs off the sofa. "I need a shower." Otabek raises his hands to help Yuri stand; Yuri avoids them. "Don't," he says. He manages to cross the room on his own, first to his bedroom for a change of clothes and then to the bathroom. He shuts the door beside him.

Otabek takes Yuri's place on the sofa. He pulls his earbuds out of his pocket and puts one in - just one, on the off chance that Yuri needs something - then turns on a lamp and picks up the book he'd left on the end table that morning.

Yuri doesn't emerge for some time; when the door opens at last, steam curls around him, dissipating in the cooler air outside the bathroom. The near-threadbare old sweatshirt - a favourite - he's wearing used to be oversized, and while it's still loose in the chest, the hem no longer reaches mid-thigh and the sleeves leave his wrists exposed. 

He sits on the opposite end of the sofa from Otabek and props his injured leg up on the coffee table. Otabek offers him the second earbud, but rather than take it, Yuri wraps his fingers around Otabek's wrist and pulls him closer. Otabek lets himself be led, lets himself be guided down to lie on his back with his head in Yuri's lap. Yuri picks up the earbud, then; the playlist Otabek has chosen is ambient, quiet, downtempo.

Yuri's hand slides into Otabek's hair. It's not for Otabek's comfort - it's for his own, though he'd never admit it, except to Otabek and even then only when pushed. Above Yuri's head, Otabek can see the shelf with the hooks underneath for Yuri's senior-division medals. Nationals. Euros. Worlds. Miscellaneous Grand Prix series competitions, and multiple Finals as well. One silver, from his first senior event; otherwise, it's all gold, gold, gold.

The bronze from this past season's Worlds is absent.

Otabek's eyes drift closed as Yuri's fingers stroke through his hair; they blink open again a minute - or an hour - later at the sound of Yuri shaking painkillers into his hand from a prescription vial. This time, it's Yuri's eyes that close, after a while, as the medication starts to work, as the tension starts to drain from his shoulders and jaw. 

Otabek removes both his and Yuri's earbuds and tucks them back into his pocket. When he speaks, his voice is gentle. "You've been pushing yourself too hard."

Several seconds tick by before Yuri answers. "I know," he says without opening his eyes.

"How long have you been in pain?"

"A while," Yuri admits. "Maybe a week. No, more than that, but it wasn't bad at first. I thought it would go away." He sighs, and picks at a loose thread on the sleeve of his sweatshirt. "So is this how it starts?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," Yuri says. "What's next? My back? My knees? My fucking _hips_?"

"Yuri," Otabek says, and waits until Yuri tips his head down to look at him. "Is it a setback? Yes. But you'll get through it - if that growth spurt two years ago didn't slow you down, this won't either."

"How do you know?" says Yuri; his voice is quiet, uncertain.

Otabek tells the truth. "I don't," he says. "But I believe in you." There are other words, too, there on the tip of his tongue, words that he uses to keep himself going when his confidence is shaken - but Yuri has never been one for motivational speeches. Instead, Otabek sits up and kisses him. He means it to be light, but Yuri puts his arms around Otabek's neck and holds on, turning the kiss into something deep and slow.

"Let's go to bed, okay?" Otabek says, when they pull back.

"Okay," agrees Yuri. This time, when Otabek stands and offers his hand, Yuri takes it.


End file.
